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2021年2月10日发(作者：天才答不答)

Short stories by Mark Twain

The Californian's Tale 1

When I was young, I went

looking

for

gold in California. I never found

enough to make me rich.

But I did discover

a beautiful part of the country

. It was called

The Stanislau was like

Heaven on Earth

.

It had bright green hills and deep

forests where soft winds touched the trees.

Other men, also

looking

for

gold, had reached the Stanislau hills of

California many years before I did.

They had built a town in the

valley

with

sidewalks

and stores, banks and

schools.

They had also built pretty little houses for their families.

At

first

, they found a lot of gold in the Stanislau hills.

But their good luck did n

ot last.

After a few years, the gold disappeared.

By

the

time

I reached the Stanislau, all

the people were gone, too.

Grass now grew in the streets. And the little houses

were

covered

by

wild

rose bushes.

Only the sound of insects filled the air as I walked through the empty town

that summer day so long ago.

Then, I realized I was not alone

after

all

.

A man

was smiling at

me as he stood

in

front

of

one of the little houses.

This house

was

not

covered

by

wild rose bushes. A nice little garden

in

front

of

the house was full of blue and yellow flowers.

White curtains hung from the windows

and floated in the soft summer wind.

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Short stories by Mark Twain

Still smiling, the man opened the door of his house and motioned to me

. I

went inside and could not believe my eyes.

I had been living for weeks in

rough mining camps

with other gold miners.

We slept on the hard ground, ate

canned beans

from cold metal plates and

spent our days

in

the difficult

search

for

gold.

Here in this little house, my spirit seemed to

come

to

life

again.

I saw a bright

rug

on the

shining

wooden floor. Pictures hung all around the

room.

And on little tables there were seashells, books and

china vases

full

of

flowers.

A woman had made this house into a home.

The pleasure I felt in my heart must have shown on my face.

The man read my

thoughts.

Everything in this room has felt the touch

of her hand.

One of the pictures on the wall was not hanging straight.

He noticed it and went to

fix

it. He stepped back several times to

make

sure

the picture was really straight.

Then he

gave it a gentle touch

with his hand.

It is like the finishing pat a

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Short stories by Mark Twain

mother gives her child's hair after she has brushed it.

I have seen her fix all these things so often that I can do it

just the way

she

does. I don't know why I do it. I just do it.

As he talked, I realized there was something in this room that he wanted me to

discover.

The Californian's Tale 2

I

looked

around

.

When my eyes reached a corner of the room near the fireplace,

he

broke

into

a

happy laugh and rubbed his hands together.

!

cried

out

.

picture.

I went to a little black shelf that held a small picture of the most beautiful

woman I had ever seen.

There was a sweetness and softness in the woman's expression that I had

never seen before.

The man took the picture from my hands and stared at it.

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Short stories by Mark Twain

When you see

her…oh,

just wait until you meet her!

sighed

, putting the picture back on the little black

shelf.

been gone two weeks today.

evening.

I felt

a

sharp

sense

of

regret.

by

then

,

said.

likes to

have people come and stay with us.

firmly

.

He

picked

up

her picture and held it before my eyes.

Now you tell her to her face that you

could

have

stayed

to me

et her and you would not.

Something made me

change

my

mind

as I looked at the picture for

a second ti

me

. I decided to stay.

The man told me his name was Henry.

That night, Henry and I talked about many different things, but mainly about

her.

The next day passed quietly.

Thursday evening we had a visitor. He was a big, grey-

haired miner named Tom.

He took

a yellowed letter

out of his shirt pocket and read it to us.

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Short stories by Mark Twain

It

was

full

of

loving messages to him and to other people

—

their close

friends and neighbors.

When the man finished reading it, he looked at his friend.

her. I'm going to tell her this time!

haired miner said.

any little sorrow makes me cry

. I

really was hoping she would be here tonight.

The next day, Friday, another miner came to visit.

He asked to hear the letter. The message in it made him cry, too.

The Californian's Tale 3

Saturday finally came. I found I was looking at my watch very often.

Henry noticed this.

he asked me.

I smiled and said that I was sure she was just fine. But he did not seem

satisfied.

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Short stories by Mark Twain

I was glad to see his two friends, Tom and Joe, coming down the road as the

sun began to set.

The old miners were carrying guitars. They also brought flowers and a bottle

of whiskey.

They put the flowers in vases and began to play some fast and lively songs on

their guitars.

Henry's friends

kept

giving

him glasses of whiskey, which they made him

drink.

When I

reached

for

one of the two glasses left on the table, Tom stopped my ar

m.

He gave the remaining glass of whiskey to Henry just as the clock began to

strike midnight.

Henry emptied the glass. His face grew whiter and whiter.

lie

down

.

Henry was asleep almost before the words were out of his mouth.

In

a

moment

, his two friends had

picked

him

up

and carried him into the

bedroom. They closed the door and came back.

They seemed to be getting ready to leave.

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Short stories by Mark Twain

So I said,

stranger to her.

They looked at each other.

said.

On her way back, on a Saturday evening in June, when she was almost here,

the Indians captured her. No one has ever seen her again.

Henry

lost

his

mind

. He thinks she is still alive.

When June comes, he thinks she has gone on her trip to see her parents. Then

he begins to wait for her to

come

back

.

He gets out that old letter. And we come around to visit so he can read it to us.

is

supposed

to

come home, we come here to be wit

h him.

We put a sleeping drug in his drink so he will sleep through the night. Then he

is all right for another year.

Joe

picked

up

his hat and his guitar.

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Short stories by Mark Twain

He opened the door of the pretty little house.

And the two old men disappeared into the darkness of the Stanislau.

Luck 1

I was at a dinner in London given

in

honor

of

one of the most celebrated

English military men of his time.

I do not want to tell you his real name and titles.

I will just call him

Lieutenant

General

Lord Arthur Scoresby.

I cannot describe my excitement when I saw this great and famous man.

There he sat, the man himself,

in

person

, all covered with medals.

I could not

take

my

eyes

off

him. He seemed to show the true mark of greatnes

s. His fame

had

no

effect

on

him.

The hundreds of eyes watching him, the worship of so many people, did not

seem to

make

any

difference

to him.

Next to me sat a clergyman, who was an old friend of mine.

He was not always a clergyman. During the first half of his life he was a

teacher in the

military

school

at Woolwich.

There was a strange look in his eye as he leaned toward me and whispered

—

Privately

—

he is a complete fool.

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Short stories by Mark Twain

He meant,

of

course

, the hero of our dinner.

This came as a shock to me. I looked hard at my friend.

I could not have been more surprised if he had said the same thing about

Napoleon, or Socrates, or Solomon.

But I was sure of two things about the clergyman. He always spoke the truth.

And, his judgment of men was good.

Therefore, I wanted to

find

out

more about our hero

as

soon

as

I

could

.

Some days later I got a chance to talk with the clergyman, and he told me

more. These are his exact words:

About forty years ago, I was an instructor in the

military

academy

at

Woolwich, when young Scoresby was given his first examination.

I

felt

extremely

sorry

for

him. Everybody answered the questions well,

intelligently, while he

—

why, dear me

—

he did not know anything.

He was a nice, pleasant young man.

It was painful to see him stand there and give answers that were miracles of

stupidity.

I knew

of

course

that when examined again he would fail and be

thrown

out

.

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Short stories by Mark Twain

So, I

said

to

myself

, it would be a simple, harmless act to help him as much as I

could.

I took him aside and found he knew a little about

Julius

Caesar's

history.

But, he did not know anything else. So, I went to work and tested him and

worked him like a slave.

I made him work,

over

and

over

again

, on a few questions about Caesar,

which I knew he would be asked.

If you will believe me, he

came

through

very well on the day of the

examination.

He got high praise too, while others who knew a thousand times more than he

were sharply criticized.

By some strange, lucky accident, he was asked no questions but those I made

him study.

Such an accident does not happen more than once in a hundred years.

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Short stories by Mark Twain

Luck 2

Well, all through his studies, I stood by him, with the feeling a mother has for

a disabled child.

And he always saved himself by some miracle.

I thought that what

in

the

end

would destroy him would be the mathematics ex

amination.

I decided to make his end as painless as possible. So, I pushed facts into his

stupid head for hours.

Finally, I let him go to the examination to experience what I was sure would be

his dismissal from school.

Well, sir, try to imagine the result.

I was shocked out of my mind. He took first prize! And he got the highest

praise.

I felt guilty

day

and

night

—

what I was doing was not right.

But I only wanted to make his dismissal a little less painful for him.

I never dreamed it would lead to such strange, laughable results.

I thought that

sooner

or

later

one thing was sure to happen: The first real

test once he was through school would ruin him.

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